


am i pregegnant or am i okay?

by hanktalkin



Series: CON SCIENCE [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Escape, F/F, F/M, Multi, Switzerland, Team Talon (Overwatch), Trans Female Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: They’re stupid, careless. All three of them. And now Moira has to clean up their mess.Or, the fic in which Moira actually tries to be a Good Person™





	am i pregegnant or am i okay?

Idiots. All of them.

Moira flicked between the tests, not in the habit of doubting research just because it came back unpleasant, but this time deserved an exception. Maybe if she frowned hard enough, the bar of progesterone levels would shoot back down to normal.

Because of _course_ neither of them were careful: Reyes was a hotbed of PTSD and misplaced anger, and Lacroix was… _Lacroix_. Their ill-advised courtship had tumbled out of control faster than a pair of twenty-year-olds med students on spring break (minus a drunken marriage only recognized in Venezuela.) But now there were actual _consequences_ , ones that Moira would have to deal with since she’d somehow become their designated secret keeper.

The full biological exam don’t lie. Even when she hadn’t been looking for the answer to that particular question, the best of her equipment was no dollar store urine strip. Lacroix was with child, and that left exactly two alternatives.

Moira briefly wondered if the kinder option would be to not force Lacroix to choose.

_You know that’s not true, Dr. O’Deorain._

Moira groaned, leaning back in her office chair as that nagging little conscience pecked at her brain. It had Dr. Zeigler’s voice of course, no one else called her _Dr. O’Deorain_ besides her pathetic lab assistant at the University. No, she was just Moira, plain and ruthless to everyone besides Angela.

Once upon a time, that voice in her head had belonged to her mother. Everyone had something like it, she supposed: a manifestation of all her doubts, criticism and chiding as picked her way through life. Even once she was free from her mother, she heard it often, parroting the words of her scholarly detractors, calling her _son_ long after her mother was cold in the ground. It would be years before she would fade completely from Moira’s psyche.

Only to be replaced by another. Dr. Zeigler was softer, yet no less annoying.

_You know what you should do. It’s no mercy having your decisions made for you._

Moira waved her hand, as though she could dismiss the ghost of her sometimes-foe so easily. The woman hadn’t left her alone since Moira had been expelled from Blackwatch, and it didn’t look like she’d stop dispensing oh so helpful advice any time soon.

Having a conscience didn’t suit Moira. Moral interfered with her work. Sympathy led her astray.

Yet responsibility was one mantel she was not so willing to throw off. She monitored Reyes’s condition as much she could; she was an exemplary medic on the field, no matter her personal feelings to her teammates. So, somehow in this disaster of an organization, discovering Lacroix’s state left her in charge of it.

She’d tell the sniper. She hoped Angela was happy with herself.

* * *

Moira watched Sombra from the corner of the cafeteria, any other high-ranking Talon agents gone at this hour of the morning. The other woman ate her breakfast unhurried, sticking her finger in a donut and swiveling like the world’s most unsanitary corndog.

 _This_ was the glue of Reyes’s strike team, somehow. Their trailing third, the one who’d tripped Lacroix and Reyes into one another and still found a place for herself nestled in between them. If anyone would think to exercise a little caution when engaging in illicit relationship among Talon members, it would have been her.

Crumbs tumbled off her lip and onto the table.

If she was the most responsible member of their triumvirate, Moira could hardly surprised at the result.

A soft buzz shook Moira’s phone.

 

 

> **SucroseScalp** : take a picture. itll last longer

Moira wasn’t surprised Sombra knew she was spying; in fact, it would be more surprising if she didn’t. The woman didn’t even slow her breakfast, no sign that she was in communication beside her rapidly twitching pupil.

 

 

> **MAODeorain28** : Is this a secured channel?
> 
> **SucroseScalp** : yeesh dont beat around the bush do you
> 
> **SucroseScalp** : ya its secured
> 
> **MAODeorain28** : Good. I need a favor regarding the monitoring equipment in my lab.

Sombra sent a series of emojis, most of them either skulls or an obnoxious amount of question marks.

 

 

> **MAODeorain28** : Do not worry, I would never ask you to do anything without something for your own personal gain.
> 
> **MAODeorain28** : It is regarding Widowmaker.

There was a twelve second pause in between messages.

 

 

> **SucroseScalp** :  what exactly do you want

* * *

The pretense of an extra checkup was neither suspicious nor uncommon, and it got Lacroix to her lab just as the security system fizzled out. The audio and video feed would be replaced with something relatively convincing, a chore Moira was sure Sombra could manage.

Moira leaned into her desk, fingers steepled as she looked at the assassin across from her. “I won’t be subtle, Lacroix. You are pregnant.”

If Lacroix had ever been stunned in her post-conditioning experience, Moira had never seen it. Granted, in missions they stayed as far away from each other as necessary—a sniper and a doctor wanted in very different places—but even without the advantage of past experience she recognized the way Lacroix’s hands curled in front of her. Moira could practically hear the spiked heart rate.

_She’s terrified. Don’t make her suffer more than she hast to._

Moira ignored the voice. The cameras would only be off for so long. “What am I going to ask is a simple question: do you want it?”

Flex. Dilation. Moira waited, despite the ticking clock in the back of her mind. This was not an easy question answer under normal circumstances, and Lacroix knew what was waiting for her if she answered the wrong way.

She turned her head to the rabbit pen along the north of the room. Averting of gaze. “It does not matter. Talon would not allow it.”

Lacroix was not a dumb woman. Foolish and reckless, brought about by years of captivity, but not stupid. She knew that if Moira cared about her insubordination she wouldn’t posit a silly little test question first—no, she knew that Moira had a reason for asking.

And still she stalled.

“That did not answer my question.” Moira repeated herself, “do you want it?”

“But…” A frustrated growl came from within Lacroix, and she stood with a clang of her chair. If she were not the weapon she was, she might have paced. “How is this even possible? I should not be able to… _Physically_ I shouldn’t be able to.”

“If you were made from scratch, I would be inclined to agree with you.” Moira didn’t rise with her, simply watched as Lacroix clenched her fists. “But since your body has been…edited…a working reproductive system was not something that needed to be manufactured. Merely overlooked. I am sure whoever molded you did not see the need to change what they did not think would ever be a problem.”

Lacroix wavered between staying and sitting down again, her gaze locked firmly on the floor. Exhibiting signs of guilt perhaps?

_It’s heartbreaking that she has to feel guilty for allowing herself one happiness in the world. Finding romance in all this? That should be something hope for._

The thought twisted something old and forgotten in Moira’s heart, a feeling that hadn’t burned since the real Dr. Zeigler had stopped speaking to her. There was something to be said for denying Talon with an act of compassion rather than rebellion.

But Moira didn’t say any of that, lest she sway Lacroix to a decision that wasn’t her own. “I ask again. Do you want it, Lacroix? If you don’t, truly don’t, this will be easy. I will relieve you of it, and you will go on, our superiors none the wiser.” Moira indicated the camera above them, and Widow’s eyes flicked to the violet sugar skull emblazoned in its lens. “But that will only work if you are answering me honestly.”

“If it is so easy, why don’t you just do it?” Lacroix hissed. Misdirected anger. “You certainly do not need _my_ permission to do so.”

Moira bowed her head. “Because the easiest path is not always the wisest.”

Lacroix looked at her, the steady rise and fall of her chest increased to that of a normal human’s breath. Moira met her gaze, allowing herself to witness the faint change in the sniper’s eye.

“I want it,” Lacroix said. “I want…them.” She sat, a slow coiling motion, like she would pull her knees onto herself.

There was silence between the two women, Lacroix’s arms coming to a curl around her stomach.

“Well,” Moira said. “Now the real work begins.”

* * *

Gathering Reyes and Sombra took planning. Appearing at different times in Moira’s lab needed coordination, and the cameras needed to go out again for the impending conversation. If they kept going out, someone was bound to notice patterns in Moira’s rotating guest list, but for now it would do.

Moira needed an in-person conversation to tell them. And told them she did.

Sombra recovered first. She pressed a thumb to her nose and yelled, “not it!”

Moira ignored her. “Lacroix has requested I inform you, as she wishes to include you in what comes after. However, even if you refuse, this meeting does not come without strings. As of now you are a risk.”

“I’m serious,” Sombra kept going. “There’s nothing left down there, I’ve g-”

“She’s not asking who the fucking _sire_ is you idiot,” Reyes blasted, cutting into what would no doubt be a longwinded excuse for Sombra to hear herself talk. “She’s asking us to run away with her.”

And Sombra knew. There was no way she didn’t, not with the look of perfectly calculated smugness in her eye and a habit of hiding weakness with whimsy. But she would cover up her fear differently than Lacroix, or even Reyes. Here was a brain that was already moving a mile a minute.

At least Reyes was both keeping up and thinking ahead.

He nodded at Moira. “We’re coming with. And we’ll kill anyone who gets in our way.”

Well, thinking ahead and thinking rationally are two very different things. They were lucky they had Moira there for them. “While I appreciate the enthusiasm, that will be unnecessary and counterproductive. There are plans in motion to extract Lacroix with as little peril to her as possible. All that she requests is that you…join her.”

That knocked some silence into them.

Although Moira didn’t know the exact nature of the strike team’s relationship, she could guess that it didn’t involve many open displays of commitment. Understandable. The majority of her own relationships had been similar, the noose of professionalism strangling for most anyone who share her ambition. Her sympathy was with them. At least until Reyes chose to speak again.

“So,” he grunted. “What exactly _is_ the plan?”

A wry smile quirked Moira’s lips. “Reyes, in twenty minutes you are going to be very sorry you asked me that.”

* * *

Two weeks. Thorough planning, reaching contacts, covering all their bases. They would need a specialized doctor to help through the pre-natal care, someone who could manage Lacroix’s unusual condition. They’d need a safehouse, a place to lie low for a year or more while the child could not be safely moved, then another bolthole while Talon still searched. There were arrangements for transportation made with Sombra’s extensive resources, but the time until Lacroix started showing counted down like a time bomb in the back of Moira’s mind.

A mission to Seoul. There was a short circuit and Lacroix’s line went dead for twelve seconds, and Moira didn’t know if she’d ever been more terrified in her life. It was a strange sort of fear, something she shouldn’t extend to a burden to her otherwise successful Talon career. And yet, when Lacroix’s voice cut back in, the shaking in her knees couldn’t be chalked up to adrenaline.

_You care, Dr. O’Deorain. You should let yourself show it, sometime._

Most conversations were conducted via text, over Sombra’s secured channels. As such, Moira never did see the trio’s little reunion post news. She supposed it was unconventional that a third party had told the expecting parents, but everything about a forbidden child in a terrorist organization was unconventional.

She wondered if they celebrated. Perhaps they had fallen together in a disgustingly affectionate embrace.

_You big softie._

When she’d first met Angela they’d melted into the first name basis, their bickering that turned into a fond competition as things between them…thawed. But the voice in Moira’s head wasn’t the real Dr. Ziegler, the one who’d bring her cups of tea on cold nights in the frigid air of Blackwatch’s labs. No this incessant thing didn’t exist until Angela was gone, and an inaccurate interpretation.

_Things shouldn’t have ended the way they did._

A month into the first trimester. Their jet was waiting for them just outside the cargo bay doors, black and untraceable unless anyone decided to look up. The three fugitives bundled into coats, Reyes helping snap a few buttons down Lacroix’s front.

“You’re coming with?”

Sombra’s voice garnered the attention of the other two, attracting their gaze to the doctor now dressed and in their midst.

“There are many places that can use a brilliant scientist,” Moira said, a dismissal on her fingers. “It will not be difficult to find new employment.”

“But…” Sombra blinked, scrutinizing every inch of Moira’s frame. “… _Why_?”

Moira shrugged. “You will need another doctor.”

She supposed that in any normal instance a show of altruistic good will would set off every warning bell in her former coworkers heads. But she’s earned their trust—or at least, approval—through her silence. She wouldn’t dispose of that now.

So that was how the four of them bundled in the plane, most of them not knowing how close Moira was to not getting on. But the war inside her couldn’t be won, not without following this to the end.

Not without seeing her one last time.

* * *

The cottage was remote, but not inaccessible. The path leading through the mountains was a gentle slope, lined with green and crocus, crisscrossed with the hard packed dirt of decades compiled. Sombra flitted in between fussing over Lacroix and getting self-conscious at her own sentimentality. She’d try to walk apparently unbothered at the front of the pack, only to dart backwards whenever Widow got too close to rough part of the path.

At the front of the pack, Moira cast a sidelong glance at Reyes. “Do try be civil once we get there. I know how difficult that can be for you.”

“I will,” he snapped. The melted slosh of spring slapped against his boots. “And back at you, doc. You two didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

Truth. Unfortunate truth. And yet…she’d still answered. Still came flittering at a cry for help, always so eager to play the savior. Their communication, brief that it was, stung with memories of things lost, her old perceptions tired and outdated. A red door came into focus. So much closer now.

She knocked. Frost on the windows, a wheelbarrow outside. White edging. How quaint, how… _her_.

Angela opened the door, tired eyes and tired wings. She wasn’t yet out of her suit from her last mission, and it crackled old dust and blood with every step. It was heavier than the type she’d worn before. That of a warrior.

“Dr. Zeigler.”

“Moira.”

And just like that, the little voice in the back of became obsolete. Because the way Angela said her first name was so full of old life that the moss along the cottage grew just from her glorious exposure. A smile, unbidden, curled on Moira’s face as Angela returned it.

“Come in. I’m sure you all must be tired.”


End file.
